


but my head was underwater

by missjmelville



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Feelings Realization, Heavy Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, buddie trick or treat 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjmelville/pseuds/missjmelville
Summary: Exactly one year after the tsunami that devastated Los Angeles, a memorial ceremony is held where a group of people and one small boy remember the man that saved them and ultimately lost his life in the process. Or so they thought.They’re talking about him. Or well, who he used to be, when he remembered who he was. He can’t tear his eyes away from the podium as the next person steps up and tells their version and then next and the next and it’s almost too much.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 260
Collections: Buddie Trick or Treat





	but my head was underwater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miker/gifts).



> For the lovely Miker who asked for angst and amnesia. Much thanks to my two lovely beta's who stepped in last minute to make sure there were no horrendous errors. This is a story idea I have been working on sporadically for a while now and I'm not sure if I'll keep this in as part of it or as a deleted scene or AU of the already AU story itself. Regardless, here it is and I dearly hope you enjoy it!

He’s not sure why he’s at the memorial. It took him two hours just to roll out of bed this morning and convince himself to get a cab to the pier. Maybe it’s about his own face he saw on the TV a week ago. Maybe it’s the fact that apparently there are people that miss him, that think he’s dead, and he’s suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge to see them. To see if he’ll remember them.

He wears a loose hoodie and keeps the hood up to conceal his face, the beard and longer hair do enough to dissuade the average observer from recognising him as the man on the news but he’s sure it wouldn’t fool anyone who actually knew him before. He slouches as he walks along the boardwalk, the memorial held at the end of the pier.

The crowds here are thick and he’s constantly bumping into people as he makes his way to the front, as close as he can get, to watch the speakers who are lined up to the side of a raised platform, a podium sitting empty in the middle just waiting for the first speaker. There’s a lot of police in attendance, security for the event. There was mention of a senator awarding some sort of medal later in the ceremony.

The noise of so many people speaking is a welcome relief as it drowns out the sounds of the waves below them, his hands still shake as he stands among the crowd but he’s not fallen into a complete panic attack so that’s a plus.

A silence ripples out over the crowd as the mayor approaches the podium to give a speech, he tunes it out, that’s not what he’s here for. Off to the side a flash of curly blonde hair catches his eye, a small boy on crutches hovers by the side of the stage, a crinkled paper clutched in one hand and leaning into the steady presence of what must be his father. Something about the boy looks familiar. Maybe he was someone he saved.

Behind the boy and his dad a group of firefighters are gathered, uniforms on but clearly only there for support and not actually on the job as they all crowd around the boy and ruffle his hair, pat him on the shoulder and one even crouching down for a quick hug. The dad looks grim, like he’s trying to keep a straight face for his son but it’s slipping. He wonders if the man lost someone or just hates to be reminded of the danger his son must have been in.

After the mayor steps down a steady procession of people take to the podium and tell their stories, about losing loved ones, about being rescued. About making it out alive of a tragic event that so many others didn’t. And then the stories start to change, slowly he realises what is happening after the fifth person comments about the bravery and courage shown by the off-duty firefighter who rescued him from the raging waters.

They’re talking about him. Or well, who he used to be, when he remembered who he was. He can’t tear his eyes away from the podium as the next person steps up and tells their version and then next and the next and it’s almost too much. The crowd around him fades away as all he can focus on is the podium and the people calling him a hero, ending all their stories wishing him a peaceful afterlife.

But it’s not peaceful, and he’s not gone. He’s right here. It feels so surreal to know all these people are talking about him and yet to have no memory of it. The tsunami only comes to him in his dreams, the rushing of the water, someone calling out his name. Beyond that he is a blank slate. He doesn’t even know his name, only what he thinks is his name, Christopher, and not once has any of these survivors mentioned it which he thinks suddenly is a little weird.

He’s pulled out of his mind when the boy finally takes the stage, his dad hovering by the stairs up to the stage, clearly wanting to be there to support his son but the boy looks determined, like he wants to do this on his own. An attendant runs up on the stage with a stool as soon as it becomes clear that the boy is too short to reach the microphone on the podium.

He struggles up and leaves his crutches resting against the side of the podium but after a few seconds he is steady, holding onto the wood in front of him for balance, crinkled piece of paper spread out in front of him. The boy tilts forward and he can see the father take a step closer as if ready to run over and catch him if he falls but he’s just reaching for the microphone.

“Hello,” his voice is soft but steady, “My name is Chris and I want to talk about my hero.”

That name, Chris, Christopher, it haunted his nightmares every sleeping moment of the last year, he thought it was his name, someone calling for him but, what if this is his kid? He never really thought about what family he may have left behind.

The boy, Chris, clears his throat and starts talking again. All eyes are on him but he doesn’t even seem nervous, though he stutters a little every now and then, he continues on with dogged determination.

The speech is beautiful and simple, he talks about how he was on the pier, how his Buck helped him, saved him, and then saved countless others before they got separated. How he never stopped searching for his Buck because he knew his Buck would never stop searching for him either.

Everyone is enraptured by the kid and Buck even more so, because that’s his name. He can feel it in every fibre of his being, his name is Buck and the voice calling out in his dreams for Christopher was his own. It seems so clear now that he doesn’t know how he thought otherwise before.

Tears are streaming down his face as he watches the boy continue his speech about the importance of family and friends to help you move on. The lump in Buck’s throat is almost choking him with the grief overwhelming him.

Other people around him are crying and when he looks back at the podium all the other survivors have gathered around Chris and the city mayor is approaching, along with the senator holding a velvet box. He leans in next to the boy to reach the microphone, a sad smile on his face as he takes in the gathered crowd.

“It is with great sadness and great joy that we posthumously award this Congressional Gold Medal to LAFD firefighter Evan Buckley, who even though he was on medical leave, heroically saved the lives of all the people standing here today one year ago.

Unfortunately after the second wave he was lost and his body never recovered. His family and friends may never get the closure they wish without a body but we just know, wherever Evan is, we thank him for his great service to this city and the people still alive thanks to his great efforts.”

The clapping and cheering starts slowly at first but soon the noise overtakes everything and Buck, Evan, is so overwhelmed he needs to leave, he has to get out. He looks up at the stage to see the dad helping Chris down from the podium and their eyes meet for the briefest second.

He can see the man's lips move, knows what they are saying, his name, can hear it as if the man is right next to him, something about it as clear as day. In a panic he turns and pushes his way back through the crowd, he has to get out of here, can’t face them finding out he is still alive. What a disappointment he’d be to them. Missing a year and no memory of his friends and family. He can’t face that, he isn’t ready. He’s not sure now why he even came here, it was clearly a bad, bad idea.

The crowd has gotten significantly bigger since he’d arrived and it takes much longer than he’d like to escape the noise and confusion, tears still streaming down his face, the noise of the ocean around them, it is all too much. He ducks out of sight behind a newly erected stall away from all the people and almost immediately finds himself crouching down in a ball to try and stave off the oncoming panic attack.

He doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching at first, the only sound he can hear above the thumping of his own heartbeat in his ears is the crashing of the waves below and the rushing of the wind.

“Buck?” The voice is familiar, even though he has no memory, it tugs at something inside him and even though he has no memory of his name it makes him turn, tilt his head up to look at the man standing a few feet away, the father he’d made eye contact with back on the stage.

“Evan,” his eyes are big and sad, his voice soft but sure, his hands held out as if calming a wild animal are trembling and it’s that more than anything that pulls him out of his panic, that makes him stand up on shaky legs and face the man fully.

“It is you,” his voice is soft with wonder, tears spilling over as he sweeps his eyes over Buck, taking in his clearly second hand clothes, the month's growth of beard and the curls of his hair peeking out under his hood. He stands there, mute and unsure, no memory of this man miraculously pops up but at the same time he feels safe.

“I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, I thought it was just the stress of the day and my wishful thinking,” he takes a step closer, slowly as if wary of spooking Buck away.

“I never gave up,” this time when he steps closer again, Buck takes his own step back, anxiety and guilt churning in his gut, it’s clear this man cares about him, maybe even loves him, but he’s let him down. He never tried to find him even while this man never gave up hope.

The man's face flickers briefly, the small hopeful smile that had been taking over replaced with a frown, a flash of pain in his eyes but he stops moving closer and once again holds his hands out placatingly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he looks confused for a moment before he takes Buck in again and something seems to register within him as his face shifts again, his stance becoming more hesitant. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” The words come out in a hoarse whisper, as if the very idea horrifies the man, his lip trembles minutely before he sucks in a deep breath to steady himself.

Buck watches this all with a growing sense of dread. He’s not whoever this man thinks he is, maybe he was once, but he’s not anymore. He doesn’t think he ever will be again. He shakes his head in answer, still unable to form words around the lump of guilt clawing its way up his throat.

“My name’s Eddie and I don’t know what happened to you, I don’t know where you’ve been, but you can’t disappear again Buck, you can’t. Everyone will be so happy to see you alive, they all thought…” he trails off, well it’s clear what they all thought if he’s just been posthumously awarded a medal. “Please don’t go.”

It’s the plea more than anything that stops Buck from leaving, and it’s then that he realises he’s been backing up slowly since the man, Eddie, asked if he remembered him. Maybe he doesn’t know who he is, or was, but he can learn, he can learn from the people that knew him best. He hesitates. His next decision will change his life completely and he’s not sure if he wants to go back to a life that has moved on without him. To a family that have grieved and mourned and moved on.

There is just one thing that is itching to claw its way out and somehow the words make their way past the lump in his throat.

“Christopher, is he my son?” It’s not outside the realm of possibility, they have similar hair, the way the kid talked about him spoke of a deep emotional connection, the way his nightmares have been filled with his own voice screaming out for the child like nothing else mattered even in the middle of a tsunami where he could have died himself.

Eddie sucks in a breath, his face a mask of shock as if Buck had just punched him, tears threatening to fall again when he’d gotten them back under control.

“You’re as good as,” Eddie replies, and this time when he takes another step forward Buck doesn’t take one back, “Better than I ever was,” his voice is thick with emotion as he gets closer and reaches out, hesitating with his hand hovering near Buck’s shoulder. “You loved him like he was your own, and I never realised how much you meant to us, to me, until you were gone.”

“I never told you Buck, and I won’t now cause that’s not fair, not to you, not to me, but please don’t go, just stay, stay just until you learn who you were, who you can be again, if you want to,” his fingers twitch as he reaches out the rest of the way to clasp Buck’s shoulder. It’s funny the way Buck’s whole body immediately sags with relief, the guilt washing away, something about how they are standing makes him feel safe, whole, like a missing piece of the puzzle just fell into place.

He may not remember who he is, he may not remember the man standing in front of him, but there’s no mistaking the emotions he can see swirling in the warm brown eyes as their gazes lock.

“Stay, Buck,” the last is whispered between them but they’re standing so close there’s no way Buck could miss the words. “Please.”

“Okay,” he replies and it should shock him that Eddie immediately folds him into a hug and it should make him uncomfortable but it doesn’t. None of this feels wrong. In fact, it feels like this is where he was always meant to be, in the arms of the man that loves him even when he can’t remember who he is. This is where he belongs and maybe together they can start piecing their lives back together. One new memory at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! Come yell at me on my [tumblr](https://missjmelville.tumblr.com/).


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